In the painting, a man and woman—clearly great beauties at a glance—sat side by side. On the woman’s lap sat a boy, no more than three or four years old.
Although these were people Blair already knew, Ruth, unaware of her familiarity, quickly explained who they were.
“They are the late Duke and Duchess. And this child is His Grace now.”
The family in the portrait was laughing happily, completely oblivious to the misfortune to come. The image felt all the more poignant for the tragedy that followed.
But there was another reason Blair could not tear her eyes away.
Blair gazed at the baby Headrin with a look of profound longing.
Soft, black, slightly curly hair; chubby milk-white cheeks; clear, large eyes; even the curve of his lips as he smiled.
Except for the eye color inherited from his mother, Aziel had been born the spitting image of his father, Headrin.
‘Aziel…’
It tore at her heart whenever she managed to summon the child from her fading memories.
‘I’m glad you look like your father.’
At least this way, I can imagine what you look like.
Just as Blair was submerged in her yearning, Ruth, assuming she had a different reason for staring so intently, interjected tactlessly.
“The late Duchess was truly a beauty, wasn’t she? As for the late Duke, well, it goes without saying. He’s exactly like His Grace now, isn’t he?”
“…”
“His Grace carries a different atmosphere these days, but isn’t it fascinating how his face at that time still remains?”
Ruth’s expression as he spoke of the late Duke, the Duchess, and Headrin was unmistakably tender.
To think he would reveal such emotion even in front of her, despite his clear discomfort with her presence. Blair realized that this feeling was not merely duty, but a bond born of deep trust and love between humans. That pure devotion was so endearing it drew a smile from her.
“You truly served the late Duke and Duchess with sincerity.”
Only then did Ruth compose himself, hastily softening his tone.
“Well, they were my benefactors, after all.”
“You feel uncomfortable with me, don’t you?”
At Blair’s sudden, blunt question, Ruth choked and started coughing.
*Did she hear me sighing earlier, by any chance?*
He checked to see if Blair was offended, but she was looking at him with clear eyes, devoid of any displeasure. That only made him feel more awkward.
Struggling between the urge to be honest and the need to offer a polite lie, Ruth scratched his cheek and replied.
“It’s… not Her Grace’s fault.”
*I just hate your background.*
Blair immediately understood what remained unsaid.
She understood Ruth. Lina had also disliked Headrin, yet she liked Blair. Ruth was the same, only in reverse; his loyalty belonged entirely to Headrin.
Of course, she knew that shunning someone based on their background was hardly right.
‘But at least he’s different from the others who talked behind my back.’
Most people disliked her not out of loyalty to Headrin, but simply because they didn’t like her. Ruth’s feelings, however, were rooted in deep, unwavering loyalty—a clean emotion that would vanish once the situation between Headrin and her was resolved.
Not that she intended to offer him any reassurance.
“I know.”
Blair said calmly, a faint smile touching her lips.
“Still, don’t be so on guard. I’ll be leaving cleanly, without causing any harm to the Del Marc.”
“Leaving?”
When Ruth asked with a bewildered expression, Blair widened her eyes in return.
“Ah. Didn’t he tell you?”
“I am not sure what you are talking about…”
“That we are in a contract marriage.”
“A contract… marriage?”
Watching Ruth react as if he were hearing the words for the first time in his life, Blair nodded.
As the implications settled in, Ruth turned pale with horror.
*Hmm, the lounge from earlier still feels a bit desolate; it would be good to hang a few more paintings.*
Blair, having dropped the bombshell on Ruth, was oblivious to his shock. She left the gallery, thinking she should go meet Mihail, as it was time for him to have sent word.
***
That evening, Headrin, who had returned to the mansion after finishing the magical beast subjugation, found Ruth in his office.
It was long past the hour Ruth usually departed, so seeing him still there suggested he had something urgent to say.
*Or something happened with Blair.*
Headrin asked Ruth, who approached with a grave expression, in a business-as-usual tone.
“Haven’t you left yet?”
“Your Grace. Is what Her Grace said true?”
“What?”
“That you two are in a contract marriage.”
Headrin’s hands, busy drying his hair with a towel, paused. His eyes turned sharp in an instant.
“…She told you that?”
“Good heavens, is it true? You didn’t tell me such an important thing! If it’s a contract marriage, when the promised term ends…”
Ruth’s nagging didn’t even reach Headrin’s ears.
“Wait, where are you going in the middle of our conversation?”
Headrin ignored Ruth and stormed out of the office. A towel fell in the process, but he didn’t bother to retrieve it.
His footsteps were headed toward Blair’s bedroom.
Bursting into the room without a knock, Headrin saw Blair, who was shedding her bath robe and changing into a nightgown.
Headrin froze at the glimpse of skin revealed beyond the unfastened gown.
“Eek… Hup.”
Lina, who was attending to her, was startled by the intrusion and nearly screamed, but clamped her mouth shut when she realized it was the Duke.
It was not unusual for a husband to see his wife, but she still hastily pulled the gown together to cover Blair.
The woman herself didn’t seem particularly shocked by the exposure; she only looked surprised by his sudden appearance.
“Lina, you may go.”
Lina paid her respects and retreated quietly. Only Blair and Headrin remained.
Headrin, who had intended to press her immediately, closed his mouth upon seeing her look up at him with such clear, calm eyes. He remembered the tears he had once seen pooled in them.
Suppressing an agitation he couldn’t name, Headrin spoke in a lowered voice.
“…I heard you told Ruth about our contract.”
“Ah… I thought Sir Ruth knew. And I thought it would be fine if he did.”
It wasn’t something that shouldn’t be spoken of. Ruth was his aide; he wasn’t the type to blab about a potential weakness, even if it cost him his life.
Swallowing emotions he couldn’t define, Headrin’s eyes fell upon Blair’s lips.
Only then did he seem to understand the source of his anger. He was furious that she had mentioned the end of this contract so nonchalantly.
*We are going to divorce. According to the contract.*
The same words he had heard before. The woman in front of him, standing within arm’s reach, suddenly felt miles away.
As if she might simply vanish.
That could not happen. That would be breaking the contract.
None of the conditions he had set were fulfilled yet. He hadn’t even been able to claim the warmth of this woman, which had served as a small reward for the arrangement.
The anger toward that reality must be the name of this uncontrollable emotion shaking him now.
Finally defining his feelings, he cupped Blair’s cheeks and forced her to meet his gaze. His expression was twisted.
“Do you think this contract is a joke?”
Blair’s eyes trembled minutely at his cold tone. But Headrin did not stop.
He couldn’t stop—not when he realized he never wanted to hear those lips speak of the contract’s end again.
“You seem to have forgotten, but this is a scam that deceives the Emperor. Not a childhood game of house.”
“…”
“Never mention the contract in front of others again.”
His voice dropped into a chilling silence. After a moment, Blair’s trembling pupils stilled. She seemed shaken, but soon, as always, she nodded with a calm face.
“I will be careful from now on.”
She seemed to understand.
Surely, this was the answer he had wanted. And yet, Headrin felt a parched, hollow thirst surging within him.
But there were no grounds for further anger before a woman who complied so readily.
“…Get some rest.”
Headrin suppressed his emotions and left the bedroom. A ragged sigh escaped him as he ran his hands through his hair.
He found his own behavior, so volatile lately, utterly repulsive.
***
“We’ve arrived.”
The carriage Blair was in stopped in front of the art gallery.
Today, she was meeting Mihail here, at the private gallery. The last time, the theater had been a public rendezvous, so they had met in secret; this time, she decided to treat it like a casual meeting. If anyone recognized them, she would simply claim he was assisting her with an auction.
Even so, she wanted to avoid unnecessary attention, so Blair checked the veil-draped hat she was wearing and opened the carriage door.
At the same time, a large hand was extended toward her.